He sighs in frustration. "On good days, I get these moments of clarity, and when I do, I realize how crazy I really am. That's why no one ever visits me; I'm too crazy for them."
It's easy to perceive the sadness in his tone. I punch him lightly in the arm. "All the best people are."
"I don't remember them," diverting subjects suddenly.
"Who?"
"My family." He shrugs, huffing as he slides deeper into the bench. "I don't remember what they look like: hair color, eyes, smile; soft or kind, voice, anything. At times I get these visions in my mind of two silhouetted figures, and I think for a moment that maybe some details about them will flood back. But they never do. Do you think they still love me?"
I can practically feel my heart fracture. "I know they do."
"Then why haven't they come back for me?"
I'm unsure how to respond. I don't know if they'll ever come back or if they're even still alive. He stares at me expectantly, waiting for an answer that will keep him believing for one more day that there's still someone on the edge of that horizon who cares about him.
Finally, he turns away, no doubt tired of waiting for an answer. "I'm different. Plain and simple."
"There's nothing wrong with being a little different."
He looks back at me and smiles. "You know something, Wheels, you're pretty cool."
I try thinking of something that might cheer him up. "Listen. My birthday's tomorrow; maybe you and Calix would like to come over?"
His eyebrows rise in interest. "Will there be cake?"
I laugh. "Yes. There will be cake."
"Hot dog! What about a bouncy castle? Please tell me there will be a bouncy castle. I've always wanted to go inside one of those things."
"We'll see."
He bobs his head happily.
I still can't fathom the fact that both he and Calix have been here for eight years. In the near four months I've been here, I keep hoping the following week will be my last. But at least for the time being I have the two of them to keep me company, which is more than I thought I'd ever achieve the day I first came here. In a strange way, that day seems like a lifetime ago.
Maverick looks at my wheelchair, seemingly studying it, like it's the first time he's ever laid eyes on it. "Wanna hear a joke?"
I shrug thoughtlessly. "Sure. Why not."
"What do you call a nun in a wheelchair?"
I think this over for half a minute. "Dunno. What?"
He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Virgin mobile."
Chapter 31
Eighteen years old today.
Almost hard to fathom; life has certainly flown by. Seems like yesterday I was holding on to mother's hand with a white-knuckle grip begging her not to send me on the kindergarten bus. By now, I would've thought I'd be in college, clinched a part-time job, maybe even had my own apartment, but life clearly had other plans for me.
Hollywood Ending is tonight. A melancholic sigh escapes me; I really wanted to go to that dance. But who am I kidding, even if Xander were still here, I couldn't go anyway - not with these wheels.
I lift my torso away from my bed and drag my lifeless legs toward the edge as effectively as possible where my wheelchair is parked. Sliding onto it, I begin my daily routine of emptying my ostomy and attaching a new one. I used to struggle with this task, but I've done it so many times now I can practically function on autopilot. Desiree was right, things have gotten easier. But I still can't walk. I'm still paralyzed.
A grand breakfast awaits me in the kitchen. Mother is leaning over a table topped with an impressive spread from waffles crowned with whipped cream, to fluffy, golden omelets, along with a bowl of fresh cut fruit in the center.
"Happy birthday, Kenzie!" She looks like she's been up for hours, adorned in a tasteful blue-green eyeliner and fleshtone lipstick. I haven't even looked in the mirror yet; my curls are probably a tangled mess, and I can still taste the pungent odor of morning breath on my unbrushed teeth. I'm sure I look as if I qualify for living under a bridge.
"What time is it?" my voice comes out groggy.
"A quarter past eleven."
I'm surprised to hear her say that; guess I needed the extra sleep.
Footsteps thump down the stairs. Father presses his lips to the side of my head. "Happy birthday, McKenzie. You feel any older?"
"Yeah, dad. I totally feel older. A whole year older. Pretty sure I spotted my first gray hair last night. And before I know it, I'll be collecting social security." He chuckles at my sarcasm, then takes a seat at the table.
Mother places a pitcher of orange juice next to the fruit bowl. "I know you're keen on healthy eating, hon, but I figured you could make an exception for one day. It is your birthday after all."
I move my wheelchair to my usual spot at the dining table, my back to the window. "Actually, I've kind of foregone those eating habits."
Mother looks up in surprise. "Oh? What changed your mind?"
Thoughts of Calix and his adorable efforts to arrange a candlelight dinner flash through my mind. I hide a smile, shrugging in response. "Guess it was time for a change," then stab my fork into a crispy waffle.
We spend most of the afternoon lazily watching movies: the first being about this young guy who's giving these "gifts", as they were called, of challenging tasks in hopes of helping him better appreciate the life he had been giving. It was a tearjerker, or at least it had mother turning into a fountain by the end. I'm not ashamed to admit I shed a few tears as well. The second movie was about this girl who lost her arm from a shark attack while surfing in Hawaii; apparently it was inspired by a true story. Kind of reminded me of my life, having to fight and not giving up no matter what adversities life throws at you.
After the second movie, mother tells me that Calix and his family along with Maverick will be over soon and that I need to try and make myself more presentable. I faked an innocent expression, asking her if homeless person is a presentable appearance? She shook her head and laughed.
It's difficult to think of myself as anything but a plegic, let alone attractive, but I do what I can, running a comb through my hair several times then apply a light coat of blush to my cheeks - teeth minty fresh from brushing.
The doorbell rings a minute later. I don't know why, but I feel kind of nervous. I check my profile in the mirror one last time, slightly disappointed at the view - V-neck and sweatpants, this is as good as it's gonna get.
Father opens the front door, Mick steps inside with Jessa at his side. Calix steps over the ridge of the stoop, using Teddy to visualize his surroundings. He follows the sound of father's voice. "Cheers for the invite to your lovely home, sir," extending a hand forward.
Father shakes it. "Calix, how are you?"
"Better than I deserve."
The top of Maverick's curly red hair blips into view from behind them. Not bothering to say hello, he elbows his way inside. "I was told there'd be cake."
The four of them take a seat on the couch by the stone fireplace. Calix unknowingly takes a seat closest to me and my wheelchair. "Hi," my voice comes out soft and weak. I feel like slapping myself. Hi? Really, McKenzie, that's all you can say? And you can't even say that properly.
Calix turns his head towards my voice, smiling. "Hello, Milady. And happy birthday."
"Thank you."
Mother stands from the loveseat. "Can I get anyone anything? Soda, tea, water?"
Mick turns to Jessa. "Tea?"
She glances at her husband and nods. "Yes, tea would be lovely."
Calix looks up. "Did someone say tea?"
Maverick waves his hand in the air dismissively. "Psh! You Brits and your tea. Got any Red Bull?"
"Oh no, mate. Not again with the Red Bull. Last time you drank that stuff you turned into that squirrel from Over the Hedge." He turns in mother's direction. "Spare us the extra craziness and bring him something with no sugar in it."
"So . . . water?"
"Perfect!"
; Maverick throws his stocky body against the couch and huffs in disappointment.
The next hour is filled with casual chitchat mixed with loud slurps of chai tea, Calix's request, until mother announced it was time to open presents. August was up first, handing me a small package wrapped in Sesame Street wrapping paper, which was poorly done. "I wrapped it myself," he beams with pride.
I examine it. "Yes. I can see that. And you wrapped it with the wrapping paper mom bought you for your third birthday."
He shrugs, seemingly not caring. "Twas all we had, big sis."
I tear off the wrapping to see a pair of athletic fingerless gloves, pink.
"Now your hands won't turn black from that icky stuff on your wheels," he points to the black powdery deposits on my push rims.
"Aw, that's very thoughtful of you, thanks, Aug."
Maverick gets all excited. "Me next! Me Next!" He whips a white object from around his back. "Here, this is for you." I immediately realize it's my pillow.
"Wow. Um, that's my . . . pillow. I love it." Makes me wonder how he got it.
He bobs his head, smiling confidently. "I wanted to get you something that you would use."
"And I do. Every single night."
Calix shoves Maverick back against the couch. "That may be the best gift ever, mate. I'll try not to show you up with my gift." He reaches inside his navy blue cardigan and pulls out what appears to be ticket stubs. I focus my vision on the tiny print written on the side: Hollywood Ending.
Gasping slightly, "But how did you . . .?"
"The mall. I could feel the disappointment in your voice when you saw that promotional poster. So I phoned the cheery people and got us tickets; there's enough for all of us to go."
Mother steps forth, clearly eager to deliver her present, and places an iridescent colored birthday bag on the table in front of me. "This is from your father and I."
Reaching inside the bag, I'm nearly overtaken with tears of joy at the sight. "It's the dress I saw at Macy's." Fairy blue fabric, puffy shoulders, glistening cerulean swirls sprinkled across the front. It looks like something Cinderella would have worn. "You did all this for me?"
Mother looks ready to cry. "You've had a tough few months, sweetie," kissing the side of my head. "Happy birthday, McKenzie."
We gather in the kitchen for cake where everyone sings happy birthday to me. Maverick stumbles around for the lyrics, almost like he's never heard the song before. His face lights up when mother sets a large piece of birthday cake in front of him. "Cake! Oh, glorious cake!"
August sticks his tongue out at Maverick, displaying that it's pink and blue from the icing. Maverick returns the juvenile antic. All the while, I sit in silence eating my cake, desperately wanting to go to Hollywood Ending, but realizing that a dance is no place for a plegic. I'm hopelessly torn.
After we finish eating cake, mother hands me the dress. "Why don't you go try it on."
I take it from her hand and push my wheels towards the bedroom. From there, I struggle into the dress, trying my best to get my useless legs through the opening in the back and slide my arms through the sleeves. Mother knocks at the door moments later, moving inside at the opportune moment. "Here," she tugs my hands through the sleeves until they poke through.
I take a moment to stare at my own reflection in the finger smudged mirror. It's been so long since I've looked like a girl, like a real girl all dolled up. Most days are spent without any attempt to beautify myself. But right now, for the first time in months, I look like a princess.
"My little girl's all grown up, and it happened right in front of my eyes without me even realizing it," mother sniffs.
I lift my eyes. "I'll always be your little girl, mom. Wheelchair and all."
Mother helps me lace up a pair of Tiffany blue Converse - yeah, that's right; Converse with my dress - before leaving the bedroom. Upon rounding the corner of the foyer, I see Calix standing by the front door, now wearing a blue-gray suit, which coordinates with my dress perfectly. Everyone else is standing close by ready to leave for the dance.
Calix smiles, extending an elbow towards me. "Shall we, Milady?"
I loop my arm through his. "We shall."
Somehow or another we managed to pack everyone inside the van. Mother and father sit up front, while Mick and Jessa sit in the row behind them, a sandwiched August in the middle. Maverick, Calix and myself fill the final row of seats, me and my wheelchair on the end.
Maverick keeps switching his gaze from the window, then to me and Calix, and back again. "So, what exactly do we do at a dance. Is there food? Will there be more cake?"
"Mate, a dance is just that, you dance and have a good time. Which reminds me, have you seen my secret bag of jelly beans? I couldn't find them last night."
Maverick swings his head around. "Jelly beans?" Calix nods. "Were they in a clear plastic bag?"
"Yup."
"Held together by a green rubber band?"
"That's right."
"Were they hidden beneath your bed?"
"Indeed they were."
Maverick pauses before shrugging. "Hmm. Aliens must've ate 'em. Gotta watch out for them buggers . . . mate."
Calix looks stunned, even from behind those glasses, then turns to me, as if believing I hold the answer. "Side effects," I tell him.
Grinning, he nods in agreement. "Side effects."
A short while later, I see a massive glass dome constructed upon the roof of a brick building emerge from the orangey-red horizon. As we move closer, I can see the glass panels of the dome are held together by steel beams running up its spherical frame. Inside the dome, a spectrum of lights flash and sway, reflecting off the glass and making it appear like a twinkling star amongst the dusky sky.
"Is that it?" Before anyone can answer, I see a long banner draped across the brick building with the words Hollywood Ending in bold.
Father drives the van beneath the valet's awning, where a man in a valet uniform awaits. The man opens the doors for us and gives a warm greeting, welcoming us to Hollywood Ending. Everyone steps down from the van, I roll my wheelchair down the ramp, and the valet driver takes the van away.
Hanging down from the awning are hundreds of golden light bulbs, ones that remind me of something you'd see in a Broadway production or an antiquated building from the 1920s. A revolving door is at the entrance leading to a lobby with flawless marble flooring and a sparkling chandelier hanging from above. A grand staircase is below it, which splits off on each side and ascends to the second floor above. That's where the glass dome must be!
As much as I'd like to take that beautiful wooden staircase, these stupid wheels won't allow me such a pleasure, so we take the elevator instead. August smiles as the lift shudders upward, saying it feels like we're flying.
The double doors slide open revealing the ballroom floor, hundreds of people already gliding across the commodious dance floor. I lean over the side of my wheelchair and see my face in the distorted reflection of the milky white marble. Raising my head, I find myself in awe at the meticulous structure of the dome.
"Oh, Calix! I wish you could see this place. It's so beautiful."
"I know it is. I can feel it in your smile."
Father takes mother by the hand and wisps her away towards the dance floor. Mick follows his lead, taking Jessa by the hand.
A small stage is at the back of the ballroom where a guitarist, drummer, cellist, and pianist on a baby grand are playing a melodious ballad. To my left, several long tables covered with black table cloths are pressed together topped with delectable looking finger sandwiches and pastry dishes with a small fountain of red punch flowing forth from its summit.
"C-Ca-Cal!" Maverick stammers for words, smacking his English friend in the shoulder. "Dude. Heaven is back!" He doesn't wait for a response, darting off towards the pastry table.
After the first hour had passed, I start to feel uneasy and a little awkward just sitting here doing nothing while everyone around me danc
es the night away. I had already downed three mini cupcakes, two sandwiches and a glass and a half of fruit punch. I should really know better than to stress eat. So I move away from the punch table and towards a dim corner of the dance floor, distancing myself from everyone else. It feels weird being the only one in the room unable to walk around, to dance. Everyone here keeps giving me strange looks like I'm some kind of alien or something. I suppose I can't blame them. This is a dance after all; not exactly the place you expect to see someone in a wheelchair.
The back of my neck twitches with jealousy. All the boys look so dashing in their suits, each one's face filled with nervousness as they approach a girl to ask them to a dance. I hate it! Why can't that be me? Never before have I hated my disability as much as I do right now.
To add to the already awkward feeling, I feel completely exposed in this dress. I'm constantly having to tug the fringe over my knees and keep my legs together, which is rather difficult to maintain sitting in this chair. My legs are so ugly looking, and pale, and small, and shriveled, and ugly. I kind of wish I were back in my bedroom safely protected by baggy sweatpants. There was a time in my life when I would've rocked this dress with extreme confidence - nothing could be further from the truth right now.
I feel bad being here and having fun, or trying to at least, while Kalyope remains trapped in a hospital bed helplessly waiting for a miracle that isn't likely to come. I'm her last hope, if you can even call it that, and I'm at a dance instead of finding her a heart.
Sweeping my eyes across the ballroom floor, I spot mother and father near the far wall entangled in a slow dance. Mick and Jessa seem to be in the same dance number, though circling the floor a little closer to me. Maverick looks completely out of place, like he's unsure what to do with himself other than continuously stuff his face with pastries, so he lifts August by the waist and begins dancing in circles - the gleeful screams of August can barely be heard above the classical band.
My wheelchair jolts as something clips the side of my wheel; dragging me from my inner thoughts. The red tip of Teddy is in between my wheel spokes, a smiling Calix holding the other end. "Now what's a pretty girl like you doing over here all alone?"
Paraplegic Page 24
